


It’s Like Rain On Your Wedding Day

by thalialunacy



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thalialunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one about the word 'ironic'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It’s Like Rain On Your Wedding Day

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired, obvs, by [this interview](http://youtu.be/EHtXD7XFeeI). Thanks to [misspearlygates](http://misspearlygates.livejournal.com%22) for the Brit-help.

“I find it incredibly ironic,” Bradley says, brushing crisp crumbs off his chin, “that you’re the poofter, yet they’re the ones on the cover of Gay Times.”

Colin raises his eyes from his book to the heavens. Bradley can see him over the top of the (completely not-gay) magazine he’s got stood on his belly.

“What?” Bradley says.

Colin darts a covert sideways look at him, which is truly not covert at all, then says, “What what?”

“’What what?’ Really? You think you’re so subtle, with your delicate facial structure and all that, but really— Oh, leave it out. What made you make that ‘Bradley, you’re such a knob’ face just then?”

Colin opens his mouth to further prevaricate, but it’s clearly mostly just in deference to routine at this point, and Bradley shoots it down instantly. “Don’t even. I know that face. I am unbelievably familiar with that face.”

Colin wavers for a moment, but then closes his book, a finger holding his place. “Irony,” he says finally.

“Irony?”

“Yes, irony.”

“What about it?”

“It’s not right.”

Bradley tilts his head. “I thought your people breathed the stuff.”

“It’s not right,” Colin clarifies, tapping Bradley not-so-gently on the knee with his book, “that one stupid pop song formed a whole generation’s vocabulary. Incorrectly,” he adds.

“Ah.”

“Yes, ‘ah’. Bloody Alanis Morissette.”

“What is it, then?” Bradley nudges at the underside of Colin’s thigh with his toes, because Colin’s opened his book up again.

“What’s what?”

“Don’t be cute.”

The book closes again. Bradley smiles, digs his toes under a little bit more. “What’s irony?” Colin asks. “Or what actually is the word for the fact that the _breeders_ ” –he says this rather archly—“are on the shirt-lifter magazine cover instead of myself?”

A frown creases between Bradley’s eyes. “Hey, now, you could breed. You’d just have to find a temporary mum.” The frown goes away as the idea gains momentum. “And then you’d just have to come to terms with the fact that the spawn would sound more like me than you, because I’m the handsome one and because we couldn’t leave for too long at a time, and you know that—“

“Bradley.” Colin’s clearly fighting a smile. “Focus.”

“Right.” Bradley’s hand absently finds Colin’s where it’s holding the book shut, all resting on Bradley’s shin. “So, both. I want both answers.”

“You would,” Colin says, then lifts his chin. “Irony. Something is ironic when the intended meaning is the opposite of the actual meaning.”

Bradley follows. “So, like, saying ‘you’re a wanker’ to a guy who is not, in all actuality, masturbating at that very moment, and for all you know, might not have ever masturbated.”

Colin purses his lips. “…right.”

“Well, what?”

Colin shrugs. “I dunno. It’s not that you’re wrong, it’s just—“ His free hand sort of flails out. “It’s usually a bit—“ He settles into a strange sort of cupping gesture. “Heavier.”

“Heavier than a bunch of fit blokes on the cover of a magazine?” Colin huffs, but Bradley’s just about to be brilliant. “And hey, doesn’t that mean it _is_ kind of ironic? I mean, none of them are gay, yet they’re on a gay magazine cover, which implies that they’re gay, when in fact they are not, actually, gay.”

“Arguably, I suppose, if you’re going only by literal definitions, but you have to take it in context. Magazines—gay, straight, The Beano--don’t only feature one type of thing. And, also arguably, those three lads are from one of the gayest shows on television, so that makes it not ironic at all.”

“Fair point,” Bradley concedes.

But now Colin’s the one on the roll. “And you know I’ve not gone public, and whereas that lot can show up on a gay mag and not get egg on their face, I would most likely not be so lucky.” Bradley’s gut twinges. He hates this bit. But Colin rallies before it turns into a pity party. “And also, the people at the magazine were clearly trying to entice their readership, more than anything, so the sexuality of those in the photo is hardly a factor. There _are_ gays who prefer their men brawny, you know. We aren’t all after twinks and androgyny, as nice as it can be.”

Bradley’s eyes glint. This is a much better tangent. “Oh, I know.” He sits the rest of the way up slowly, letting his shirt ride up just enough to show his ab muscles working, and casually flexes a bicep. Well, as casually as one can ever flex a bicep.

Colin rolls his eyes fully this time. But Bradley can see the little twitch at the corner of his mouth. The tiny flush of colour starting its way up his neck.

This one’s in the bag.

The book hits the floor with a thud as Bradley tumbles them into a flop on the other end of the sofa. “Oi!” Colin tries to protest, but then Bradley’s hand is down his pants and he’s sufficiently distracted.

“Wanker,” Bradley says into his mouth with a laugh.

“Technically—ung, yes, please, like that—you’re the wanker.”

Bradley feels the corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile. “Well, and technically, you’re the poofter. Yet, here we are.”

Colin blinks up at him, then lunges up to kiss him as his hands endeavour to push down Bradley’s tracksuit bottoms and pants. Soon they’re skin on skin, albeit with intruding awkward bits of clothing they can’t be arsed to get out of the way, and Colin’s huffing encouragingly into Bradley’s cheek.

Bradley leans down to lick Colin’s ear as they rut together. “Think I can make you come like this?”

“No,” Colin manages, with only a slight hitch in his voice. “No, I don’t.”

“Hmm. How about—“ And Bradley reaches under Colin, tips up his thighs just enough to work his clothes down the rest of the way and—

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Colin lets out, “okay-- maybe, maybe you could—“

Because of course he can make Colin come with frottage and a well-placed finger. He’s Bradley James.

And the sight of Colin’s face, his lips a surprised sort of ‘o’ as he lets go, is enough for Bradley. He’s always been rather easy where Colin’s concerned, anyway.

The afterglow is sticky, but Bradley’s willing to wait to deal with that later. He does shift mostly to the side, even though they’re rather squashed on the sofa. His mouth lingers near Colin’s throat, which is working steadily to recover air.

“You know I love you, right?” Bradley says into slightly damp skin. Colin’s ‘mm-hmm’ reverberates against his lips. It’s sort of cool. “And I think it’s all right that you’re not the one on that cover.”

Colin’s chin tips towards him. “Yeah?”

Bradley fights it for a minute, then meets Colin’s eyes. “Yeah.” He reaches up and tilts Colin over the rest of the way for a kiss. “I kind of like having this all to myself.”

He can feel the smile form on Colin’s face. “Besides the millions of people that watch our homoerotically undertoned show on the telly.”

“Besides them, yeah.”

“Well, good.” He kisses Bradley’s mouth softly, a lingering push of lips with no tongue. “You know I feel the same, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Bradley says, his lips trailing lazily up Colin’s jaw. “Wait.” He looks up, feigning confusion. “Unless you’re being ironic.”

Colin puts a hand up to his face. “Oh, God.”

Bradley’s grinning. “I mean, because—“

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Shut up before I shut you up.”

“Oh, sure, the poof threatening me, very—“

But Colin just grins, shoves him into the back of the sofa, and proceeds to make good on that threat. And a few others.

And he makes Bradley promise to never, ever use the word ‘ironic’ in bed—‘Or sofa, or kitchen table, or wherever!’--again.

_**FIN** _


End file.
